


One Man in a Thousand

by julien (julie)



Category: due South
Genre: Episode: s01e22 Letting Go, F/M, M/M, Sibling Incest, but it all works out in the end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1997-01-07
Updated: 1997-01-07
Packaged: 2021-02-26 07:13:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21859633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julie/pseuds/julien
Summary: Ray is in despair over Fraser. The man would never have been Ray’s to love, but it seems clear he’s lost Fraser’s friendship as well. Francesca provides a perverse kind of comfort to Ray, and maybe she even has some wisdom to share… if Ray doesn’t lose his soul in the process.
Relationships: Benton Fraser/Ray Vecchio, Francesca Vecchio/Ray Vecchio





	One Man in a Thousand

**Author's Note:**

> **Notes:** This story is based in the episode 122 LETTING GO. The title is stolen from Rudyard Kipling’s poem THE THOUSANDTH MAN. 
> 
> **Warnings:** Beware! Sibling incest! 
> 
> **First published:** 7 January 1997 in my zine Pure Maple Syrup 4

# One Man in a Thousand 

##  _will stick more close than a brother_

♦

Despair. Ray Vecchio drove home with the heaviest of hearts. He had never thought Benton Fraser could be his, of course, but with all that had happened… Fraser choosing Victoria over Ray again and again: forgetting the party at Ray’s; maintaining an unshaken faith in her long after Ray had her worked out; going with her, at the last moment, running to her and leaping aboard that train. _I should be with her_. God, Benny was never going to be Ray’s to love, but did Fraser really have to choose an alternative as bad for him as Victoria Metcalfe? Even Francesca would have been a better option. It hurt Ray like hell, that Fraser would do himself such wrong.

Christ, but Ray had _shot_ his best friend. In the back. Forcing Fraser to fall out of Victoria’s embrace, and Ray really wasn’t sure if that was what he actually _meant_ to do. Fraser had almost died. Worse – Fraser had been in danger of paralysis from that bullet lodged near his spine.

Well, they had been doing kind of all right since then, he and Fraser had been muddling along, not pretending that everything was fine but not talking about it either. Until that very afternoon when Ray had asked, ‘Can I get you anything?’

And Fraser had replied, ‘No, you’ve done more than enough already.’

Ray had known exactly what he meant. _We’re even now_ , he’d wanted to say. _I just took a bullet through the heart for you_.

To add insult to injury, Diefenbaker, who the cop usually felt was on Ray’s side, had already ousted Ray from his chair next to Fraser’s bed. With Fraser’s connivance. It was all right, Ray wasn’t _that_ slow, he got the message.

There had never been any chance for Ray to earn Fraser’s love, and no chance to even express his own love for the man. And now there was even less, less than no chance. It was all gone: even the friendship was gone, nothing more than the saddest lamest traces of it, the habit of seeing each other every day. Sometime soon, Ray was sure, Fraser would tactfully suggest that Ray not visit the hospital the following day, there’d be some excuse that seemed quite reasonable, and then another the next day, and then…

There were times when Ray Vecchio honestly felt that he couldn’t go on this way, that something had to give: something would break and that something would probably be him. Melodramatic, but true.

Despair. Ray climbed the front steps of his home.

The kitchen was empty. If he could only fall into his Ma’s arms right now, and hear her tell him everything was going to be all right. He’d know she was lying for the sake of comforting him, of course, but that wasn’t the point. He could do with a little comforting right now, whether he deserved it or not.

A clattering bustle indicated that Francesca was upstairs in her bedroom, so Ray trailed up there. If he couldn’t have comfort, he may as well have his wounds well-salted instead. ‘Hi,’ he said to her, and not waiting for an invitation Ray wandered in and sat on her bed. A moment’s pause, and then he collapsed back onto it, and examined her ceiling, which turned out to be exactly the same as his.

‘Hi.’ She was fussing around in her chest of drawers, apparently trying to find something. ‘How is he?’

There could be no doubting who _he_ was. ‘He’s doing fine.’

‘Yeah?’

‘He’s getting better, they’re going to start his physical therapy soon. He’s fine.’

A silence passed, and then Franny gave him a sidelong stare. ‘And how are you doing?’

‘Me?’

‘Yes, you.’

‘What do you care?’

She let out an impatient snort, very inelegant and very endearing. That was Franny. ‘Of course I care, you’re my brother. It doesn’t look like _you’re_ fine, Ray.’

‘Well, I’m the bad guy, I’m not meant to be doing fine, am I?’

Francesca walked over and settled on the bed beside him, sitting there with her legs curled under her. She reached for his nearest hand, and held it in her lap. ‘You went to that psychologist?’

‘The police one? Yeah. They make you go, if you shoot someone.’

‘Didn’t that help?’

‘Not really.’

‘Did you _try?’_

Ray tilted his head a little to look up at her.

‘Now, there was someone who could have helped you, surely. Didn’t you _want_ to be helped?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe I can’t be. Helped, I mean. I, er…’ Ray stared at the ceiling again. ‘I shot him, Franny. I shot my best friend.’

‘So what does that mean – you deserve to be miserable for the rest of your life?’

‘Maybe,’ he retorted defensively.

‘You think _he’d_ want you to be miserable over this?’

A sob lodged in his throat, but he kept it there, just there, letting it go no further. After a moment, Ray was able to say, ‘Yes.’

She was impatient with him. ‘Oh, come _on_ , Ray.’

‘He hates me, OK? He made that perfectly plain today.’

Francesca’s hands shook at his. ‘I don’t believe that for a moment,’ she scolded. ‘Benton Fraser is the most forgiving person I’ve ever met.’

 _Oh, Christ_. Anger welled up in him. ‘What the hell would you know!’ Ray yelled at his sister. Yeah, now she’d gone and done it. Amazingly enough, beneath the dull despair, it seemed there was a wealth of rage. ‘You don’t know him!’ he blasted at her, pushing himself up off the bed to stand. ‘You think he’s some kind of saint? You think he’s so perfect? Well, he’s human just like you and me, he has his failings, he makes mistakes, he loves a woman who’s so bad for him, he… He –’

Francesca hadn’t let go of his hand. ‘I know,’ she murmured. ‘I know all that. And I know you love him, too, OK?’

Ray stared at her. What was the point? He tugged at his captive hand, feeling rather stupid and weary now that the rage had so quickly spent itself.

‘Don’t leave.’

‘Let me go, Franny.’

‘No, stay here with me…’ She coaxed him back down to sit on the bed. ‘Oh, Ray…’

‘What?’ he asked flatly.

‘Have you talked to Father Behan about any of this?’

‘No.’

‘Have you cried?’

Ray grimaced. ‘No.’

She put her arms around him, lay back down on the bed with him. After a while, Ray turned towards her, and gathered her up, and they held each other close. It was nice. Not as unconditionally comforting as Ma, but nice enough. Physically, Franny was such a tiny little thing, really – you tended to forget that when you dealt only with the force of her mind and her determination and her emotions. Tiny and slim, like Ange was.

Her head nestled into his shoulder, her arm slid around Ray’s waist, and he relaxed into it, relaxed into this embrace so familiar and so easy. She let her shoes fall to the floor, and cocked one stockinged leg up to overlap his, her inner thigh resting warm from his hip down across to his far leg. Nice. He drifted in it for a long while, the warmth of this unexpected contact.

Belatedly, Ray sensed there was something not quite right going on. Franny’s arm had tightened around his waist, and she was pressed up close against his side, with her short skirt hiked up and her leg risen to lie on him just along the top of his thighs – in fact one hair’s breadth further, and she’d be in danger of crushing his most prized if somewhat rusty assets.

‘Franny?’ he said, voice thick.

‘Mmmmm…’ She nuzzled her face against his throat. Delicious! But wrong.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’

Another incoherent moan answered him.

‘Don’t, Franny. Don’t be fooling around.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because… it’s been a while.’ Ray sighed. He’d had it good over the years. Sure, no one ever seemed to stay with him for very long, man or woman – Angela Russo had set the record, with four years of marriage – but he’d had his share. Until the Mountie strode into his life, and Ray had fallen deeper in love than ever before, so totally helpless in the hopelessness of it, and he just hadn’t bothered with anyone else, it hadn’t seemed right to betray Fraser that way even though the man was completely oblivious. Suzanne Chapin had rekindled Ray’s interest, but that romance amounted to two kisses and she was gone, and he was left with an ache that no one but Benton Fraser could ever fill. God… ‘It’s been a while,’ Ray repeated. ‘You might well get a response you didn’t bargain on.’

‘Huh,’ she said, apparently not caring. She kept doing it, wriggling against him now, just like (God help him) Ange used to.

‘A response,’ Ray continued, ‘that would be rather inappropriate.’

‘ _Inappropriate_ ,’ she scoffed. ‘You sound like Miss Manners.’

It simply shouldn’t be possible. This woman was his _sister_ , for Christ’s sake, there should be some chemistry between them that meant Ray _couldn’t_ respond. But he was responding… ‘Stop it, Franny.’

‘What if I don’t want to?’

‘You’re crazy.’

‘So, you can blame it on that.’

‘Blame _what_ on that?’

‘This,’ she said brightly – before stretching up to kiss him, full on the mouth.

He went with it for a moment, flummoxed by the overwhelming sensation caused by someone he’d never have expected to… He broke away to mutter, ‘Oh God, where the hell do you think you’re going with this?’

She stared at him for a moment, eyebrows arched in ironic query. Well, yes, it was obvious where she thought she was going. The question became what the hell did Ray think he was going to do about it.

A moment’s hesitation encouraged her. She scrambled up on top of him, crouched over him so that her warm cunt was pressed against his hardness, separated only by layers of fabric easily removed. Hands cupping his neck, lifting his head so that she could lean down and kiss him again, her small breasts teasing against his chest, her genitalia shifting against his, finding a rocking rhythm that maddened him. His hands, with minds of their own, spread palms and fingers across the small of her back.

He tore his mouth away. ‘We can’t do this,’ he said.

‘Of course we can,’ she declared lightly, hardly even bothering to argue with him.

‘We can’t.’

But Francesca Vecchio always got what she wanted. Benton Fraser was only the exception that proved the rule. ‘Yes, we can,’ she repeated, rocking against the length of him.

‘Damn it!’ he growled, anger spiking up through him – and he went with it, followed the impulse to push her over onto her back, to lie between her slim legs, and hump against her.

There was no going back or turning aside now, and anyway Ray sensed that Franny wouldn’t permit him to act on his doubts. So he began discarding her clothes, and his own, with no care. All the while kissing her, caressing her roughly, not letting thought intrude. _My sister, my God_ … Loving her, loving her, losing himself in this terrible thing he was doing…

They were naked, raw. He wanted to simply plunge inside her now, take her thoughtlessly, carelessly. Seeking the annihilation and self-annihilation of unprotected sex. He was moving over her, with her legs hooked around his waist, he was pressing up against her, his sex blindly seeking entrance, instinctively knowing where it was, and she was angling herself to accept him, welcome him, draw him in… Oh, the heat that radiated from her cunt was incredible, the wetness was a siren’s song.

But he couldn’t, when (as they say) push came to shove – Ray couldn’t quite go through with doing that to her. Crying a wordless protest, he tumbled off to one side, bringing her with him, holding her in his arms, his cock still nudging towards this little scrap of paradise. He couldn’t do it. After all, he loved her, this girl, this young woman, his own flesh and blood, his sister.

‘What about –?’ he asked.

‘Don’t tell Ma,’ she said, her dark brown eyes anxiously searching his face, ‘but I’m on the pill.’

He nodded, impatient though he appreciated this secret shared. Somehow, it didn’t change things between them, that she mentioned their mother so casually. ‘But what about –’

‘I’ve been safe. I haven’t had the test done, but I’ve been safe.’ She stared at him even more directly for a moment, barely blinking. ‘Ray, there hasn’t been – Since I divorced Matthew, there hasn’t been so many men as you think.’

‘It’s all right,’ he said soothingly, ‘it doesn’t matter how many, not to me.’ He kissed her for that, loving her honesty, and loving that she cared for his good opinion. ‘It only matters that you stay safe.’

‘And you?’

‘No, I’ve been safe. They get the tests done at work, every two years they check my sanity, they check my lungs, they check my blood.’ He shrugged, smiled at her. ‘And, baby, I have to tell you this last year has been real slow for me.’

She grinned. ‘Then let’s make up for lost time.’

And Ray pushed her over, as her legs lifted around him and her heels dug into his butt – and he plunged into her juicy heat, almost overcome at once by the overloaded sensation of unprotected fucking. ‘Sweet baby,’ he moaned. ‘God, sweet Francesca…’

♦

She wasn’t working right now, having been laid off in yet another company’s downsizing, so the affair was easy to arrange. Ray would go see Fraser during his lunch hour, whether that was early or late; Ray would suffer the cold accusation in Fraser’s eyes, and let his own guilt eat him alive. And then Ray would go home to Francesca, and fuck her, before returning to work for the afternoon and evening. If Welsh had given him a higher caseload, Ray might have found the strength to devote his time elsewhere, but the Lieutenant seemed to think Ray deserved some slack right now. God, if only any of them knew…

♦

Sometimes she was waiting for him, dressed in pretty scraps of lingerie; other times she’d be reading, or busy with the housework.

They always did it in her room, on her bed, not needing to seek variety or adventure. It was… indescribably hot. Ray sometimes futilely wished that it wasn’t, wished that it was ordinary, so that he could sate himself and move on. A strange cross to bear. No, he couldn’t even allow himself that religious imagery for this most terrible of crimes. A strange thing to find himself so addicted to his sister’s love.

She was skinny, like him. Afterwards, Ray would look at her, pay her all kinds of attention, puzzle over her, discover her. She had natural colouring, all warm browns, like him except that his eyes were lighter and his hair was thinning. She had narrow hips, like him. He loved to wrap both his hands around those hips, loved to compare their slim breadth to his own as he fucked her. God help her, she had the Vecchio nose, like him, though it was somehow transformed to elegance amidst her pretty features. Her manner was in-your-face, like his. Ah, he loved her. Over the years, all the multitude of times she got hurt, he’d been hurt, too – because her rashness and her desperation and her optimism were his as well. Her vulnerabilities were his. Her love for the Mountie.

Ray sighed. He and Franny were two of a kind.

♦

‘You won’t ever let Ma find out, will you?’ he asked one afternoon as he nuzzled at her pert little breasts. ‘It would break her heart.’

‘Of course not.’

‘You’ll need to be clever about it, Franny, you can’t afford to be careless. She picks up more than any of us give her credit for.’

‘It’s all right, Ray, I know how to keep my mouth shut.’

He smiled a little, willing to allow her that. ‘I just don’t want to hurt Ma. I don’t give a damn if Pop knows.’

‘Pop’s dead,’ she declared airily. ‘ _He’s_ not going to know.’

Ray glanced around, half expecting to see his father loitering there in his sister’s bedroom; more than half assuming that all this sin would eventually bring with it a loud dose of Salvatore Vecchio’s disgust. But, no, the siblings were alone for now.

When Ray turned back, he found Franny eyeing him with a speculative gleam. Could it be possible that Sal haunted her as well…? For her sake, Ray prayed to God not. He quickly said now, ‘Of course. Pop’s dead and gone.’

♦

‘You seem happier, Ray.’

It took a moment for the words to register, and then Ray looked up in surprise. Imagine Fraser actually making conversation; imagine him observing Ray; imagine him giving a damn about whether Ray was happy or not. ‘Why do you say that?’ the cop asked warily.

‘I don’t know.’ Fraser was sitting propped up in the hospital bed. He cast about him for an answer, those blue eyes a little brighter than they’d been for a while. ‘I’ve recently gained the impression that you have something to look forward to each day.’

Ray couldn’t help but feel self-conscious. Trust the damned Mountie to pick up whatever clues there were.

‘Or,’ Fraser asked tentatively, ‘is it some _one_ you look forward to?’

Caught between Iraq and a hard place… Ray was not going to tell Fraser anything about what was going on, Ray could barely even bring himself to _think_ about it here in Fraser’s presence. And yet this was the friendliest overture made in all the weeks of Fraser’s on-going rehabilitation.

‘I’m sorry. I’m intruding.’

‘No, no,’ Ray quickly said, sitting up straighter. ‘Er, there _is_ someone,’ he carefully offered, ‘at the moment.’ And then he clammed up again.

Fraser sat there, the expectant look on his face becoming surprised when no further information was forthcoming.

Hoist by his own petard, his own habit and inclination of just blurting everything out to his best friend… _Damnation!_ After a lengthy while, Ray added, ‘I can’t talk about it, Fraser.’ And he said this with all the dignity he could muster.

According him a greater measure of respect, Fraser said, ‘Of course.’

‘Oh God,’ Ray complained, ‘don’t take it like that.’ And he said his farewells, and ran. Ran home to Francesca.

♦

There was a framed photo of the Mountie on Franny’s dressing table. After they’d had sex, while they were still pungent and damp with it, Ray wandered over and picked the photo up. He contemplated it for a while, bringing it back to the bed with him.

Franny was quiet.

At last Ray said, ‘You know I told you he’s never going to marry a girl like you?’

‘Yes,’ she said, very simply, apparently not resenting him for it anymore.

‘Well, he’s never going to love a man like me, either.’

‘Oh, Ray. Are you still so afraid to dream?’

♦

Ray liked to live his life as an open book. A few secrets loomed large for him, a handful of secrets that simply had to stay that way, but otherwise Ray enjoyed the luxury of honesty, especially with Fraser. As a teenager, Ray had kept quiet about Salvatore Vecchio’s nastiness, and all that related to it – but Ray had told Fraser about his father’s abuse, in as many words as were necessary to convey the message, anyway. He hadn’t told Fraser about Angela yet, but that was mainly because Ray didn’t know himself what he should think or feel about his ex-wife. He suspected it was rather foolish to still be nursing his love for her. OK, and he certainly hadn’t told Fraser that he, Ray, was in love with him. And now there was Francesca. He couldn’t talk to _anyone_ about Franny, not even Franny herself.

♦

‘What is it, Raymond?’ Father Behan’s reassuring Irish-accented voice rumbled from the other side of the confessional screen. ‘What’s troubling your soul?’

‘I’m doing something wrong, Father. Something very wrong.’

‘And what would that be?’

‘I can’t tell you about it. There’s someone else involved. I can’t tell you.’

‘Have you told God?’

Ray let out an ironic laugh. ‘Hah! He knows already, the omnipotent bastard.’

Behan was patient with him, as always. Well, as always unless Ray needed to have someone be _im_ patient with him. ‘Have you told God that you know it’s wrong, that you repent?’

‘But I don’t,’ Ray whispered there in the darkness. ‘I like it, Father, I’m hooked. I know it’s wrong, but I can’t repent and I can’t quit. And what does it matter when I’m going to burn in hell anyway?’

A silence stretched, blessing Ray with acceptance and understanding. At last the priest said lightly, ‘You’re not going to hell, Raymond.’

‘No?’ He was genuinely surprised that Behan would say this.

‘No. I have every faith that I will see you in heaven when your time comes. We will meet there, and I will say _I told you so_.’

And that felt like a little piece of forgiveness; well, a large piece. Ray found himself bowing, bending over, crumpling up, until his forehead rested against the woven screen that separated them. ‘Ah, but I’m no different to my Pop. I’m just as bad as he was. And surely he’s in hell.’

‘I think you’re doing yourself an injustice, Raymond.’

There was nothing more Ray could say – instead, he moaned a negation. Behan’s hand came to rest against him in blessing, so that Ray felt a touch of flesh against his scalp, a gentle pressure.

‘Perhaps, Raymond,’ the priest said, ‘perhaps it is enough for now that you struggle with yourself. Perhaps, for now, God asks no more of you than that you struggle, and that you know you are wrong.’

‘Perhaps,’ Ray whispered.

‘And then when you need to be strong enough to win that struggle, all you need to know is that He still loves you.’

‘Perhaps.’ But Ray left St Michael’s with a lighter heart.

♦

‘You should make plans with him,’ Francesca said.

‘What?’

‘Stop assuming the worst. You’re acting like there’s no future to the friendship.’

He sighed, and gathered her up into his arms again. Ray liked how small she was, how he could hold all of her to him, cradle her. He said, ‘Well, there _is_ no future.’

‘I don’t believe that.’ She reached up, traced a finger down the length of his nose, wiggled the rather generous tip of it.

 _Really_ , Ray thought, batting her hand away, _only a sister would dare presume_ …

‘Well, for argument’s sake, let’s assume that you do have a future with him.’

‘A hypothetical future?’

‘Yeah.’ She stretched up and pressed a kiss to his bold Vecchio nose instead. ‘Now, in this hypothetical future, what would you do? What plans would you make?’

A plan immediately occurred to him, so simple and so obvious and so perfect.

‘What?’ Francesca prompted.

‘I’d go north with him. I’d help him rebuild his father’s cabin. Victoria burned it down, you know.’ Ray found that he was almost smiling at the crazy prospect. ‘I’d live in the wilderness with him, I’d help him leave the city behind for a time.’

Franny was watching him closely, echoing the smile that Ray wouldn’t quite indulge. ‘You’ll be miserable,’ she predicted. ‘Splinters in your fingers, no idea what you’re doing, suffering the heat or the cold, no proper bed or bathroom.’

‘I know.’

His fellow Catholic beamed at him. ‘Ah, the joys of penance.’

♦

Fraser seemed quite amenable to the plan, pleased with Ray’s gift of a power-saw, amused by Ray’s promise of fixtures for a real bathroom, yet to be built. There was a positive kind of energy between the two men today – not negative, not even neutral, but something actually positive buzzing to and fro. For the first time Ray allowed himself to hope for the future friendship that Franny assumed was there.

Still slowly working through the endless physiotherapy, however, Fraser soon became tired. With Ray hovering around trying to help, Fraser eased himself up from the wheelchair and back down onto his bed. He looked a bit too pale, although perhaps that was only to be expected after having spent so many weeks indoors. Ray watched him anxiously. The man obviously needed his rest.

‘Do you want me to go?’

‘No.’

 _There_. The word had been too swift a reaction for anything but the truth, and those beautiful eyes had immediately sought Ray’s gaze. _Stay_. With that candid blue staring up at him, Ray couldn’t help but grin like the happiest of idiots.

♦

Francesca Vecchio had the sweetest cunt. Ray loved to lie between her legs and get his mouth in there, his tongue teasing and exploring, eating her out, gobbling her up. He’d use his fingers as well, tantalising all the nerve endings from her clit to her vagina and back around to her ass – such a complex and thorough assault that she’d cry out, distraught, ‘What are you _do_ ing? God, whatever are you doing to me…?’

He’d tell her, ‘Play with your nipples, baby.’ The combined assault would drive her wild. And then he would fuck her again while she was still wet, and she gripped him firmly in post-orgasmic tenderness.

♦

One afternoon she was lying there curled up on top of him, and she asked, ‘When are you going to tell Benton you love him?’

It was like a bucket of cold water being thrown over him, it was almost as bad as thinking of Ma walking in on them. Ray pushed Francesca away, morose, and got up from her bed.

‘He expects honesty from you, Ray.’

‘Yeah, but there are some things honesty isn’t the best policy for.’

‘I think you should tell him. Hey,’ she said, making her point, ‘he didn’t turn me down because I asked him. He turned me down because he didn’t want me.’

‘And you figure _I’d_ like to hear that from him?’ Ray shrugged, roving around the room, trying to ignore the photo of the Mountie standing there on Franny’s dresser. ‘Look, there’s this pretty blond physical therapist who’s got her hands on him now. Actually, I kind of like her. And he’s dreamed up this stupid case they’re working on together.’ Ray rolled his eyes – a cop of Fraser’s calibre solving hospital intrigues, for God’s sake! But at least Fraser was waking up again from the spell Victoria had cast on him. ‘He’s got a life, Franny, and the only part I play in it is a friend.’ With another restless shrug, Ray added, ‘At least we _are_ back to being friends again.’

She was lying there in all her naked in-your-face glory, staring at him, like she knew better. Sisters always knew better, it was one of those rules that made the world go round. ‘I think you should tell him.’

♦

The hospital room, with its beige walls and beige linoleum, didn’t seem quite so unbearable any more. The two men were indulging in a long companionable silence, and Ray was reflecting that he liked the fact their silences weren’t fraught and difficult these days. Progress was being made. Even Dief seemed to have welcomed Ray back into the pack.

‘Ray,’ Fraser eventually said very tentatively.

‘Yeah?’ Ray responded after a time.

‘I was wondering…’ A pause, a shake of the head. ‘Forgive me for prying, but this someone of yours…’

Ray stared at him, wary as hell, and _somewhat_ taken aback that the Mountie would even raise the topic.

None of which put Fraser off at all. ‘Er, I was wondering if… well, if the reason you wouldn’t tell me about it was because… because it’s a man.’

 _Oh God_. Ray’s eyes must have bugged out badly. ‘No,’ he managed after a while.

A lift of Fraser’s eyebrows.

‘No, it’s not a man. No, that’s not the reason. OK?’

‘OK,’ Fraser lightly agreed. Though the Mountie was obviously curious – and perhaps knocked a little off balance by the fact he’d guessed wrong.

‘I _really_ can’t talk about it, Fraser.’

And there was that respect again, respect for Ray’s unexpected scruples. Christ, Fraser thought Ray was being the gentleman…

…which Ray simply didn’t deserve. He blurted out, ‘All I can say is that it’s the worst thing. No one would ever understand, and no one would ever forgive me.’

A troubled moment passed. ‘Is she… underage?’

‘No! No, we’re both adults.’

‘ _Consenting_ adults?’

‘Yes, Fraser, we’re consenting adults.’ Ray saw that the Mountie was sitting there frowning. ‘Hell, you’re going to hate me for this. And you’re right, you _should_ hate me.’

‘I don’t hate you, Ray. I’m trying to figure out what two consenting adults could do these days that wouldn’t be forgiven. Is she… married?’

‘No. Please, just leave it be, Fraser.’

‘Oh!’ Fraser’s head lifted as inspiration struck, and he stared at Ray with those beautiful all-seeing blue eyes. ‘Oh…’

Ray shuddered, sitting there sinking into the horrible beige vinyl hospital chair. ‘Christ, I don’t want to know what you’re thinking,’ he said fervently. ‘If you’re right, I’ll die of shame. And if you’re wrong – well, I don’t want to know how your imagination works, not when it comes to this kind of thing.’

Becoming a little distracted by his thoughts, Fraser tilted his head, his gaze sliding away. Considering something, fitting pieces of the puzzle together.

‘ _Please_ , Benny,’ Ray whispered. ‘Don’t do this to me.’

♦

Francesca was getting impatient with him. ‘If you can’t love yourself, Raymond Vecchio, then _of course_ you’re never going to ask him to love you.’ That’s what it all boiled down to – apparently Ray was falling woefully short in both self-esteem and courage.

He withstood her tirade for as long as he could, naked there with her. ‘What’s the point of asking him?’ he finally asked, grabbing her slim shoulders and shaking her a little. ‘What’s the point of asking when all he’ll do is turn me down, like he turned you down? I can live without hearing that from his lips, OK? I can live without him avoiding me forever-after.’

Beyond words, she growled her frustration at him.

♦

Saturday morning, and Francesca Vecchio had the _positions vacant_ section of the newspaper spread across the kitchen table.

Ray wandered in, bleary after a restless night. ‘Morning, Ma,’ he said, pressing a kiss to her plump cheek. ‘Morning, Franny,’ he added, displaying no untoward signs of affection for her, though he loved the girl dearly.

‘Morning, Raimondo,’ Francesca said.

Ma poured him a mug of coffee, which earned her another kiss.

Ray stood there propped against a kitchen bench, contemplating his sister. ‘You’re looking for another job,’ he observed, stating the obvious for the sake of raising the topic.

‘Yeah.’

Ma asked, ‘Are you tired of being at home alone all day? We’re managing, the money is fine, if you don’t want to go back to work just yet.’

Franny looked up at her and smiled. ‘I’ve appreciated some time for myself,’ she said, not even glancing at Ray, ‘but I’d like to get back out there. I’m a woman with plans, you know?’

Ray did his man-of-the-house bit by grumbling that it was about time she earned her own keep again – but the truth was his sorrow and his fear of losing her… He sighed, staring at this woman. He loved her, he’d always loved her. So it wasn’t until two mugs of coffee later that Ray belatedly realised maybe he _should_ lose her, or she should lose him, or they should lose each other, or something. Maybe this was right.

♦

One last time, and Ray pulled out all the stops, made it as good for her and for him as he possibly could. It was incredible, and it was so damnably hot that he feared he wouldn’t have the courage to let her go.

But he did. Lying together afterwards, a time they often devoted to talk, Ray said, ‘We can’t do this anymore.’

If he’d been expecting her to be sad, he was surprised. Francesca laughed, lightly amused by him. ‘Of course we can’t,’ she said. ‘We only began this because we knew it would end.’

‘Did we?’ he asked, feeling struck through. He’d thought… Well, he didn’t know what he’d thought. Only that they’d been together all their lives, and that they would continue to be together, no matter what happened, no matter what changed.

‘Ray, I have to tell you something,’ she said, looking up at him from his chest, those dark brown eyes of hers deadly serious. ‘You’ve done me good, all right? I want you to know that. I can tell you feel about as guilty as a Catholic can, but I want you to hear me – it’s been good for me. Loving you, Ray… it’s been like loving myself. And I needed some of that.’

He looked at her for a while. ‘Is that why we did it?’ he asked kind of faintly.

Francesca Vecchio just smiled.

♦

Ray had taken a real bullet for Fraser, not in the heart but in his shoulder. He tried to avoid waking up, preferring that it all end with that noble gesture of friendship – but, no, here was tawdry life coming to reclaim him.

Another beige hospital room. Ray stared up at the ceiling, trying in vain to bring it into focus, until he suddenly realised there was a hand holding his. His first thought was Francesca, who was his sister no matter what else happened between them.

Ray shifted his head enough to see – and found that it was Fraser sitting with his wheelchair pulled up close to the bed. The man had leaned forward far enough to rest his head on the sheets by Ray’s hip, and he had fallen asleep there. In fact, the Mountie was lying there drooling on their linked hands. It was really quite an adorable scene.

‘Benny…?’ Ray whispered. ‘Benny.’

A moment, and then Fraser woke, blinking once and lifting his head, pleased to see Ray. Then he let Ray’s hand go in order to deal with a crick in his neck, and to surreptitiously wipe his mouth.

‘Not the best position to sleep in,’ Ray commented, unable to speak loudly over his dry throat.

Fraser wheeled around to fetch him a glass of water, helped him take a sip or two. ‘How are you feeling?’ he asked, concern roughening his voice so that it sounded much like Ray’s.

‘I’ll live.’

‘You don’t seem to be very happy about that.’

Ray grimaced. ‘I’m all right.’

‘I was meaning to ask before all this happened…’ Fraser gestured at Ray’s bandaged arm, the hospital room, the distant corridor where Ray had risked all to save Fraser’s life. The Mountie was tentative again, so Ray kind of guessed what was coming. ‘Your someone… You lost that sense of anticipation. I was afraid she’d left you.’

‘Yeah, well, it’s over. She said it was _always_ going to be over.’ Ray sighed, and let his head drop back. He addressed the ceiling. ‘I don’t know, Fraser. Sometimes I think I have no idea what I’m doing when it comes to love.’

‘You keep trying, Ray, and I admire you for that.’

‘But that’s just because I’m a slow learner. I have to hit my head against a brick wall, oh, a hundred times before I figure I should go around it.’

Fraser smiled at him. Ray actually sensed that, and looked down at his friend to see it – a sweet and gentle smile. They hadn’t shared such a thing for weeks, months. ‘I think,’ the Mountie said, reaching to hold Ray’s hand again in a friendly grasp, ‘I think that you should keep trying.’

And for the very first time Ray began to hope that maybe Fraser would be amenable to that plan, too. Well, if it all went horribly wrong, he could blame it on a pain-killer-induced delirium. ‘Fraser…’ Ray said. ‘Benny,’ he tried. ‘I love you. Do you know that? I’ve been in love with you since… since, like, forever.’

‘Yes, Ray,’ said Fraser. ‘Yes, I know that.’

Ray watched the man, watched as that sweet smile just refused to go away. ‘And…?’ he prompted.

‘And…’ Fraser cast about him for an answer. ‘And I think you should keep trying, Ray.’

Scrunching his face up suspiciously, Ray asked, ‘With you?’

Those blue eyes were utterly candid. ‘Yes, Ray. I think you should try with me.’

♦


End file.
